Eating Things on Sticks (12 page)

Now Officer Watkins was looking as startled as Morning Glory.

Uncle Tristram turned to me. ‘Here,' he said, ‘is my precious little daughter Titania. Say hello to Officer Watkins, dear.'

I reached up to make sure that my mantilla was in place. ‘Hello,' I chirruped. And then, since Uncle Tristram had lumbered me with ghastly Titania's name, I thought I might as well take on her personality as well. ‘Thall I thing everyone a little thong?'

‘Beg pardon?' said Officer Watkins.

Uncle Tristram moved slightly so he was standing between me and Morning Glory's boyfriend. He slapped my head, hard.

‘That would be lovely, dear,' he trilled. ‘You sing like an angel. But now is not the time. Officer Watkins is busy.'

I grasped a fistful of cream-puff frock on either side and did a curtsey. ‘How about a vewy quick danth, then?'

‘No,' Uncle Tristram said.

I cocked my head to one side and took a stance. ‘One little rethitation? I know a thooper little poem about a thongbird who gets trapped in a greenhouse and gradually thtarves to death.'

Uncle Tristram leaned over to kiss me. ‘You precious little duck!' he carolled. Then he hissed in my ear, ‘You will be dead yourself if you don't watch it.'

I thought I'd better watch it.

Uncle Tristram turned back. ‘Well!' he warbled. ‘I'm sure Officer Watkins has work to do. Houses to search, and such . . .'

That seemed to bring our visitor to his senses. He started looking under chairs and peering around suspiciously. ‘Bit of a mess in here,' he mentioned, pointing to the heaps of clothes on the sofa.

‘Oh, don't mind that lot,' Uncle Tristram chirruped. ‘Dear little Titania and I are still unpacking.'

‘What about all these bits of wool and broken ornaments? Has this room seen some kind of
fight
?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I wath jutht playing a little game with thome of the knick-knacks. You thee, I thent the little china pigs off to the fair, and then thome very naughty owls flew over and they—'

Once again, Uncle Tristram stepped between me and Officer Watkins and surreptitiously cuffed me.

‘Anyhow, a lot of them got thmashed and torn,' I finished hastily.

Officer Watkins peered in the cupboards in a businesslike manner. Then he went to the door.

‘I'll search upstairs now.'

‘While you are up there,' Uncle Tristram cooed, ‘would you be a perfect treasure and empty the buckets?'

Morning Glory followed Officer Watkins out of the door and up the stairs to the landing. Even before the two of them were out of earshot, they had taken up their quarrel.

‘I
said
I heard voices,' Officer Watkins grumbled. ‘Why did you tell me there was no one there?'

‘Why should I tell you anything?' said Morning Glory. ‘You're not still my boyfriend.'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘
Are
you?'

‘I am if you
want
me to be. Do you?'

‘Only if
you
want to be.'

‘Of course I want to be. You
know
I love you. You know I always have.'

‘And I love you as well.'

Uncle Tristram got up from his armchair and pushed the door shut so he didn't have to hear them kissing. He turned to me. ‘I hope you're satisfied. Now I have to sit here in this stupid frock until those two have finished billing and cooing.'

I jumped to my feet just like Titania would at any such opportunity. ‘I could thing you a little thong! Or do a little danth!'

He grinned. ‘You're very good at imitating her.'

‘I've had a lot of practice – not with the frock!' I added hastily. ‘Only the voice.'

‘Well, go on,' Uncle Tristram said. ‘Amuse me. Do that stupid poem of hers about those pathetic kittens who run away from home and die in a snowstorm.'

‘That's the one.'

‘All right.' I climbed on the coffee table and, bunching the sides of my frock in my hands, curtsied before simpering, ‘I'm going to rethite for you a very thad thtory.'

Already Uncle Tristram was shaking with laughter.

I clasped my hands together and began the poem that we'd been forced to sit and listen to politely only about EIGHT BILLION TIMES.

‘Appalling!' Uncle Tristram crowed with glee. ‘Simply appalling. Oh, don't stop, Harry!'

I carried on. It's a long poem. I was still in the middle when Officer Watkins and Morning Glory came back in. He had his arm around her waist, and they were giggling.

Uncle Tristram raised a finger. ‘Hush, hush!' he warbled. ‘While we were waiting, my dearest Titania here embarked on a short recitation. May we just hear her out?'

Officer Watkins sat down politely. Morning Glory sat on his knee and tickled him behind the ears as I pressed on.

Around the tenth verse, Uncle Tristram suddenly covered his face with his hands and rushed out. And as I reached the very last two lines –

– I could distinctly hear behind me, through the hole in the windowpane caused by some kamikaze piglet, the sound of roars of laughter that could not possibly have been made by anybody's
real
Aunt Susan.

MY DAILY DIARY

Finally –
finally
– Officer Watkins tore himself away from Morning Glory and made for the door.

‘Now don't forget tomorrow at the fair!' he told her gaily, stepping out into the garden. Instantly both his shoes sank so deep in the mud he nearly lost them. Prising them upwards, one by one, over and over with a series of horrible sucking noises, he gradually picked his way towards the gate.

‘I ought to dig a drainage ditch through this back garden,' were his last words. ‘No wonder your apple tree fell over. This place is turning into a swamp.'

Uncle Tristram and I went back into the living room and scrambled out of our frocks. ‘I saved your bacon there,' said Uncle Tristram sternly to Morning Glory.

She looked repentant. ‘Do you mind? Horribly?'

‘I mind,' said Uncle Tristram. ‘But not
horribly
. Much as I have adored you, I could no more live on this benighted island than fly to the moon.'

‘What's
wrong
with the island?' demanded Morning Glory.

‘Don't even start!' I hissed at Uncle Tristram. ‘Remember she no longer loves you, it's pouring with rain, and there is still a heap of time before the ferry gets us out of here.'

He took my point. Pretending he was too busy clearing Aunt Audrey's clothes off the sofa to get into an argument, he let the matter drop. After a moment, Morning Glory pitched in to help. We heaved the piles of shoes and dresses and corsets tidily into a few massive rubbish bags, and sat down to play cards. Morning Glory kept wriggling. ‘I'm so uncomfortable!' She reached behind her and tugged out the whalebone corset and the holiday homework I'd stuffed behind the cushion and clean forgotten.

‘What's this?'

She glanced down at it. Then she looked at me. Tears sprang into her eyes. She gave a little sob. Then, turning to Uncle Tristram, she told him haughtily, ‘At least there's
someone
in your family who appreciates the beauty of this island, and is in harmony with the universe.'

In blatant astonishment, Uncle Tristram pointed in my direction and said, ‘Who?
Him?
'

She cleared her throat and read aloud the first words of my holiday homework.

She raised her eyes and looked at me with love and admiration. ‘This is your daily diary, isn't it? And this is how you felt on the first day you came! I'm moved and touched.'

Behind me, I heard Uncle Tristram mutter, ‘Certainly
touched
.' I was quite worried they'd get in a spat and we would end up spending the night in the car or the coal shed. So I just did a bit of Titania-style simpering, and kept my mouth shut.

Morning Glory looked at the paper in her hand again and read some more.

She turned to Tristram. ‘See?' she said. ‘Unlike yourself, your nephew has a heart.'

‘Pity he doesn't have a brain,' said Uncle Tristram.

Morning Glory read on.
‘Tuesday: I've seen an angel! Speak to me last week and I would have told you she was nothing more than a pretty young lady. But I see more clearly now. She is a shining angel! I want to shout to those around me, “Look at her! Don't you see her radiance?” But I know better than to spill my secret. So I said nothing.'

Morning Glory turned to me. ‘You saw her, then! Up on the hill, you saw my angel Dido!'

‘Maybe he didn't,' Uncle Tristram said, trying to make mischief. ‘Maybe with all that radiant angel stuff, he's really talking about
you
.'

All right, then. So I
blushed
. But anybody would have blushed. It doesn't mean a thing. Except that Morning Glory leaned across and whispered, ‘
Was
it me you meant? You can say! I promise I won't tell.'

I snatched the holiday homework out of her hand and left the room. The last thing I heard as I ran up the stairs was Uncle Tristram sniggering.

FUNNY, THAT

I can't work out what woke me in the middle of the night. It might have been the rain, but after two full days and nights of water tippling down, you'd think that I'd have been accustomed to that.

Opening my eyes, I saw, behind rain-stippled panes, the jet-black silhouette of the hill looming outside my window.

Funny, that. Because it hadn't been there the night before. Or the night before that. Or any night since we'd arrived. I'd lain in bed and seen a lot of things. I'd watched clouds billowing across the sky. I'd seen the dawn one morning. I'd seen a host of seagulls and more than one helicopter. I had seen thousands of raindrops scudding down the windowpanes.

But I had never seen the top of the hill.

Either the hill was getting higher, or this side of the house was sinking fast.
And
on a tilt.

I can't believe I just went back to sleep.

Sunday

Saturday